


Take Me Home Tonight

by Froggyflan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Rimming, just all the smut, oh and extra fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggyflan/pseuds/Froggyflan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat heard that this was something normal people do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for Toodaloo (toodalo0.tumblr.com) for the prompt: Junkrat actually trying to have a ‘proper date’ with Roadhog but it ends up horribly so they end up making their own date that consists of crashing parties, weddings / etc
> 
> And an anonymous prompt: I am super interested in reading/seeing more about the "luxury kink", is that the name? Like a sort of roleplay using nice clothing, pretending to be other people, maybe use of fancy jewels or suits from time to time
> 
> Thank you for this, I really enjoyed myself.

They're rich. Stinking rich. Like caviar and yachts rich. A warm meal and safe place to sleep rich. 

He's excited. It's been awhile since they had this much cash. They've been spending the last two months scavenging garbage and eating dirt, and that's plenty of time to dream big. He's got plans. 

“How's about,” he licks his lips, and Roadhog glares behind shiny eye holes, “I take ya on a proper date?”

Roadhog doesn’t say anything for a while, and he laughs nervously like he always does, fingers twitching, but he's watching him suspiciously. Roadhog takes an all consuming breath and scoffs. “What would you know about dates?”

“Hana told me how it's done,” and he’s grinning wide, “Real good stuff, ya know? Picture shows and fancy dinners.”

The beast of a man seems to be thinking on it, really taking it into consideration, and that lights his nerves like a fuse. Eventually he shrugs those big dirty shoulders, and Junkrat bites his lip hard. “Nothin’ better to do I guess.”

Roadhog tells him to shut up when he starts bouncing up and down. 

He decides dinner is the best way to start things off.

He picks at his civilian clothes, adjusting his hair smashed under his hat. They didn't like spending their heist money on such uncomfortable things, but at least they look nice. Shopping for clothes with Roadhog is always fun. They have to find special stores for big guys like him. But he can't say he's ever seen a bloke as big as him. Junkrat has trouble finding pant legs wide enough to cover his prosthetic. They've both got odd bodies, and he thinks they make perfect partners for it.

When Roadhog goes incognito, he hides behind big sunglasses and a baseball cap, nothing else. Junkrat admits he stares at him until he catches on and tells him to quit it. And then he does it some more. His jaw is big and powerful, silver hair dusting his chin and neck. Junkrat subconsciously rubs his own bare chin. Radiation keeps hair from growing, ain't never going to look a bushman. He'll leave it to Hog.

Junkrat picks the classiest place in town, a restaurant on the roof of some ritzy hotel. Full of posh and glamour. They are outsiders as they walk in with their jeans and leather jackets and dirty hands, slapping stacks of cash on the counter and daring anyone to tell them no. They're hurried to a table despite the waiting list being weeks out. The power of money makes him giddy.

“What the fuck is a quickie? Like a sexy quickie? They do that here?” The more he looks at the gold embellished menu, the angrier he gets. It's written in curvy letters that he can't read so well. 

“Quiche,” Roadhog supplies, and there's a beginning of a smile on those thick lips and it makes Junkrat a little pink in the face.

“Who thinks up the names for this shit? This is England, innit? Speak English.”

Roadhog laughs a little, and he's red now. 

It takes a while, but Junkrat gets Roadhog to read him off the selection before going with the most expensive thing available. He didn't know what a “for grass” was but at the price they were charging, it must be good. 

Waiting for their dinner is excruciating, bit by bit. Everything is clean and white and sparkling, and the murmur of fat cats in their shitty suits gets louder and louder until Junkrat is gritting his teeth and gripping the edge of their table. 

“I wanna blow this place sky high.” They’re already sky high, now that he thinks about it. He can't even see the tops of the other buildings. The night is dark, and the city pollution blocks out the stars that put him to sleep in the outback, and it's uncomfortable. 

“You wanted this,” he reminds him, sipping at pricey booze he couldn't pronounce. “I wanted to stay in.”

“Then why did ya agree?” Junkrat snaps, but Roadhog looks at him hard behind the sunglasses he refuses to take off and he can't help the breath caught in his throat.

“You looked like you were going to cry if I said no. Didn’t want to deal with that.”

He purses his lips. “That ain’t true.”

Roadhog drinks more, still looking at him. That’s his skeptical look.

“It ain’t!” He crosses his arms, shoulders up to his ears. He wants to look away, but everything he looks at makes him pissed off and his trigger finger itch. So he watches Roadhog, waiting for him to say something else. He knows he won’t.

Hana told him dates were about holding hands and talking about things they liked and other useless things like that, normal people things. He got it in his head that he’d like to try it out, being a normal person. Not having wild animals chewing at your fingers or murderers trying to fill you with lead. Not having to worry about where your next meal comes from or if you were going to wake up in the morning. Normal people were stupid and oblivious and vile, but they knew how to relax.

Their food arrives after long tense moments on square plates, plates aren’t supposed to be square, and it’s so very small. A tiny little something, vague and not food shaped, carefully arranged and drizzled with brown stuff in pretty shapes.

“What the shit,” he whispers under his breath. This ain’t food, he thinks. “This ain’t food.”

“It is,” Roadhog confirms. Whatever he ordered looks nicer than his, there’s more of it, but not by much. Why did they put it on such big plates? Roadhog picks up a fork and it’s comically small in his big hand. 

Junkrat can’t remember the last time he used a fork. He looks at it, shiny and ornate, and he’s disgusted. No.

As soon as he touches his “food” with his dirty fingers, Roadhog groans loud and lowers his head, watching him scoop it up and deposit into his mouth quickly. It slithers down his throat and into his gut. He doesn’t even taste it. You didn’t want to taste things in the outback. He’d taught himself to just put it in his mouth and hope for the best.

“You didn’t even,” Roadhog starts, but he lets it go immediately, knowing there isn’t a point. Junkrat licks his lips like he enjoyed it, but he wouldn’t know.

He’s impatient, watching Roadhog eat his dinner, actually eating it. He plays with the napkin that Roadhog said he should put on his lap for whatever reason. Strange place to put a face wipe. His good knee bounces, taps his fingers.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He’s not having any fun. Roadhog isn’t having any fun. People are staring at them, out of place, strange and unwanted. He feels his eyebrows furrow and he feels wrong. Maybe he made a mistake.

“Hey,” makes him perk up. Roadhog is looking outside. “Let’s blow this place.”

Junkrat sputters out a laugh, and suddenly he doesn’t care about anything else.

The bomb is strapped under the table, yellow and smiley. He winds the wires around the mahogany legs and sets the detonator. Roadhog is patient with him, and he’s grinning. They leave the hotel and stand out in the street, looking up to the roof, brightly lit and gold.

“Do the honors?” He wiggles the clicker at him. Roadhog grunts and presses the red button with a soft pop. The explosion bursts high into the night, red and yellow, black smoke invisible in the sky, and there’s screaming and sirens in the distance and he takes a deep breath through his nose. Smells like a good time.

“What’s next?” Roadhog’s voice is quiet in the noise.

Junkrat glances at him, still admiring the boom. They watch it until the embers and ash start falling like snow. He kicks his peg leg out, hands in his pockets.

“I think I’d like to stay in,” he says, and Roadhog looks nice with the colors flickering over his sunglasses. Real nice.

His bodyguard makes an affirming sound, and he relaxes. “We can make it fun.”

He smiles wide, and the glow of fire is beautiful.

The hotel they’re staying at is cushy too, maybe not as much as the restaurant, but big and lavishly decorated. The concierge is terrified of his bodyguard for good reason, avoids eye contact as they enter the lobby, and Junkrat takes a few extra seconds to go around and around in the revolving door. Roadhog lets him.

When they get to their room, Junkrat’s tearing off his clothes like they burn, and he’s grabbed by the waist and laughs so hard he snorts a little. He’s ticklish and Roadhog knows it.

They got the fanciest suite he could procure while waving a grenade launcher around. It’s got the biggest bed he’s ever seen in his life, as big as 2 Roadhogs and stretching from one wall to the other. It’s covered in gold silks that make his skin feel smooth and wet. Pillows are as big as him, so fluffy he can sink into them. Junkrat’s pressed into them and he pulls his partner down with him. He yanks the sunglasses off his face, pops the hat off, and takes a long look into those dark eyes.

“I wanted to spoil ya rotten, mate,” he says, sliding his fingers up into the silver hair past his temples. “Mucked it up, though.”

Roadhog squeezes his sides in both hands, and he lets out a little moan. “Not my style.”

“What else are we supposed to do with all this dough?” There’s bags of it everywhere, jewels that gleam and pearls that shine. Roadhog kisses him hard, crushing him into that elegant bed like he wants him to become it. Hell yes.

He takes a deep breath as the man lets up and leans over to grab one of the burlap sacks, and Junkrat laughs as he opens it and tosses bundles of cash over him, bands breaking and bills fluttering. He’s buried in them quickly, smelling like paper, worn and soft. He pushes them off his face, and a grin splits to his ears..

“Yeah, alright.”

A bag of jewels cover him too, spilling out like water drops. There’s a crown, he remembers wearing it as they high tailed it out of a museum, and it’s placed on his head gently. He smiles as the cash spreads out and around them, and Roadhog brushes it off his stomach so he can continue to admire and lavish it in heavy touches. He tips the crown and watches him work his way south, hips arching into him.

“King Jamison Fawkes the First,” he says, and Roadhog grips his thighs tightly, dragging him closer, spreading him open wide.

He likes the idea of swimming in money, grabs fistfuls of it as Roadhog touches him in the places he knows will set him off. He’s learned him too well. The gems clink and clatter as his hips are lifted off the bed, back curving over that big belly. A big tongue rolls over him, and he grips the silk bedding tight, moaning loud.

“Shit,” he whispers, pressing his chin to his chest so he can watch. His heels press against his wide shoulders, that tongue running top to bottom between his legs. It delves in, and he croons. Even his tongue is thick.

They are not very patient when it comes to messing around, which is funny when you’re in the outback and all you have is time. They’re fast by nature, greedy and always wanting. He bites his fist and watches Roadhog take him into his mouth, sucking hard and forceful. He’d give a million dollars to have a picture of that. Two million. His toes curl into his pudgy skin.

Teeth press down, scraping sensitive skin as they move up and down. It’s warm and wet and just perfect. A finger presses to his ass, seeking entrance, and he invites it wholeheartedly. He’ll never get over how big his fingers are, rough. It gives a testing push and the spit makes it a little easier, but it’s dry and burning. It makes his stomach flip.

Roadhog’s mouth slips off his cock, but grips his ass and presses in more. It’s tight and stinging and he moans like an idiot. He’s lowered back to the bed, and his back aches from being bent like that, but the silk against his skin makes him roll his hips and rock back.

He stands to retrieve the lube from the bathroom, and Junkrat finally has a chance to catch his breath. He spreads his arms out into the green, and he was sure he’d get a papercut or two by the time this was over. He bends his knees and spreads them apart lewdly.

“I’m thinking Duke Roadhog.”

The man in question rounds the corner, his eyes trained on his position, hands stroking his own stomach. He grunts.

“Mako.”

Junkrat tips the crown when it falls into his face, smiling as he draws near. He lifts his legs, ready for him.

“Duke Mako Rutledge.”

He returns to the bed with cold wet fingers and immediately gets to work. He worries his lips with sharp yellow teeth, holding his knees open as he pushes his pinky in, and even that is quite a stretch. He moans and hunches into himself as he starts to thrust it. After a moment, he switches to his index, and it does him in. His head hits the pillow with a soft puffy sound, the crinkling of notes. It’s deep, and when it curls, he’s a shivering disgusting mess. He wiggles and moans, no shame.

“Mate, you’re gonna make me pop!”

Roadhog grunts and smacks his ass audibly. Junkrat is going to go nuts if he does it again. His partner gives his own dick a shake, pumping and drenching it in more lube. This was going to be fun.

Junkrat loves this position. Likes the way Roadhog always drags him closer, a leg in each hand, pulling him apart like a wishbone. Painted fingers almost wrap all the way around his skinny thighs, and he likes to watch it happen.

His gut rests between his legs, pressing against his erection, and pushes forward. It’s always so wide, so blunt, nothing and then suddenly full. The tip breaches him slowly and he cries out, grabbing more money like it’ll help. Money always helps.

Every little push fills him up just right, each feeling better than the last. He pants and arranges himself to take it deeper. By the time he’s balls deep, he’s crying and begging and the words coming out of him don’t make any sense. The crown is lopsided and digging into his temple, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit.

He thrusts hard, and his mumbling becomes long loud howls, drowning in absolute pleasure. He’s so damn big he can see it bulging up in his stomach. He’s pushed back and forth into his pile of cash, precious jewels rubbing between him and the silk with each bump forward. It’s all so smooth and fantastic. Pampered and ruined.

He strokes himself desperately, and Roadhog rips him open almost lovingly. Junkrat eggs him on as he pounds him into that luxurious bed, as if he needs encouragement. He pleads for more, harder, and he barely knows what he’s asking for, maybe a deathwish. He can’t breath, the way he bends him forward and crushes him into their riches. Roadhog agrees to everything he asks for.

The bed is sturdy, doesn’t even creak as he drives into him with the force of a damn truck. Junkrat bites his lip so hard there’s blood in his mouth, and that’s what finishes him. He comes in his hand with a cry that’s immediately muffled with another mouth, full lips sucking out the last bit of sanity. He milks himself with a few languid pumps and drops like a dead body. Notes flutter out and onto the floor. They weren’t even done yet.

Roadhog pulls out, and it makes him whine, but he’s flipped onto his knees, face pressed into his pile of cash, and he rams back in so deep he feels the curvature of the earth.

“Fuck!”

He’s completely wrecked, sensitive and trembling. The money sticks to his sweaty face, and he’s drooling, always drooling, He tries to push himself onto his elbows, but Mako just shoves him back down, holding him in place while he fucks the ever loving shit out of him. He’s deeper like this, feels it pushing at his guts like he’s going to tear. His frustrated growls morph into needy whimpers. He’s a mess.

It’s too much, after a while. He’s fucked raw, and his eyes are wet and he can’t even feel his fingers or toes anymore. His hole burns as the lube runs dry, but his body wants more, craves it still. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, voice cracking. The thrusts are hard, rough, and he loves it. He pulls a pillow under himself, hugging it for dear life. Roadhog’s fingers grip him so tight he can barely move, and the sounds he makes are animalistic, terrifying, and he wants more. He can’t handle it. “Hog, stop, mate! You’re killing me!”

He pulls out quickly and flips him over again, much to his relief. Laying on his back, he starts to feel his body come back to life, feels the air return to his lungs.

Roadhog grabs his good leg and pulls him close again, pumping his cock over his thin muscular stomach. Junkrat takes deep breaths and wiggles in anticipation. He brings his hands down to rest at the juncture between his hips and thighs.

“Gimme,” he says, tilting his head back and smirking. The crown falls off.

Roadhog grips him so hard he winces, but it’s immediately followed by warm cum bursting onto his sweaty chest and over his belly. It gets as far as his chin, a rope of it narrowly misses his mouth, but he fixes that, swiping a tongue over it silently.

His bodyguard grunts as the last of it drips on him, and he lets go of his leg to reveal dark fingerprints marring tanned skin. He smiles breathlessly.

“Thanks, mate.”

Roadhog flops over to the side, and it makes the bed jump. He laughs as his back leaves the bed for a second, only to fall back into his money, crinkling loudly. He regrets moving, his insides sore from being poked so hard.

“Jesus, warn me before you try to fuck me to death.”

Roadhog is silent, big body rising and falling with each exhausted breath. With a terrible pain in his whole damn body, he reaches for the mask on the nightstand and rolls over to help him into it. He takes a long needy gasp and exhales loudly, muffled and scary again.

He admires the sound of it, breathing heavily himself. He scoots to the side so their faces are close, until can smell sweat and leather, feel hot breath come through plastic filters. He grins, and he knows he’s watching him.

“Does this mean I fuck on the first date?”

He expects the hand that lifts up to hit him, and he laughs waiting for it, but it just pets his head, crushing him gently. He can’t help but press a kiss to it and let it rest there. It’s warm and wanted, and he falls asleep like that.

In the morning, they shove everything into a couple duffel bags, including the hotel towels, which were probably the fluffiest Junkrat’s ever felt. They left a tip in the bathroom, wires attached to the door handle with a nice little pressure mine. Roadhog tells him it’s a childish set up, but it’ll work.

He has trouble walking out of the hotel with his dignity intact. He’s limping from the bruise and his destroyed ass and maybe he got a hernia from it all. Do hernias work that way? It definitely feels like it. He can blame it on the peg leg if anyone asks.

They get the bike back from the valet, who isn’t really sure how to ride the thing, let alone what to do when he sees Roadhog hold a hand out for the keys. He deposits them into that huge paw, along with his wallet for good measure.

He dumps their loot into the sidecar, and he sits on top of it like a cushy throne. Much better for his ass then a metal floor. Roadhog revs the engine and it roars loud enough to make everyone and everything stop in fear. Junkrat clears his throat, but it’s drowned out by the thrum of it.

“I heard there’s a kiddie park in France. Got dancing mice and everything.”

Roadhog glances over at him as he removes his sunglasses and hat, one final look at that rugged mug before it disappears behind a pig face. “Kiddie park?”

“Yeah, mate, like from the kid movies. Story book stuff. Talking animals. Got lots of cute things there.”

Roadhog grunts and pulls out into the street, ignoring every single traffic law in the book. “Nothin’ better to do.”

Junkrat smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me at froggyflan.tumblr.com for more dank shit.


End file.
